Beswitched (25 page)

The trolley came. Flora treated herself to the modern luxuries of Coke and crisps (which tasted excellent) and tried to think calmly.

There were no more closed doors in her memory. She remembered now why she had been so anxious about Virginia. Millions of Jewish people had been murdered by the Nazis during the Second World War. They’d had a special assembly at APS, when a lady who had been in a concentration camp came to talk to the school about the Holocaust. If Virginia had been in Vienna, she would have been sent off to a gas chamber. The thought turned Flora ice cold. If only she’d been able to remember all this in 1935, she could have done more—she could have run away from St. Winifred’s, somehow got to Holland, found Anne Frank, begged her to move to England—but that had not been allowed. And it probably wouldn’t have been possible, anyway. The magic only let you take on what you could handle.

She looked out of the window. The train had sliced through the suburbs, and was slowing down as it entered the center of London. At Paddington, Flora gathered up all her stuff—so light and colorful after the leather cases she had hefted this morning in 1935—and her heart leapt when she saw Dad waiting on the platform. He was sleek and smiling, and far more relaxed than the unshaven nervous wreck she had left behind all those months ago. She scrambled off the train, threw herself at him and hugged him fiercely.

“Well, let’s look at you,” Dad said. “The webcam pictures didn’t really do you justice. I’d swear you’re taller—and have you got thinner? Mum’s at home with Granny.”

“And is Granny—you know—” Flora hesitated, wondering how to ask if she had got any nicer. Dad wouldn’t know what she was talking about. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed.

Dad gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, darling. The operation was a great success—she’s thrown away the crutches, and just uses a walking stick now.”

Flora had been so busy thinking about the old Pete—the one she had seen this morning—that she’d forgotten about the broken hip. It was awful to think of live-wire Pete as an infirm old lady.

“I know you hated leaving her,” Dad said, picking up Flora’s laptop case. “We did feel bad about sending you away, when you wanted so much to be with her. I’m glad you ended up liking Penrice Hall.”

“It was great—sorry I made such a fuss.” Here was another change. Dad was talking about a new, improved Flora, who had only protested about boarding school because she wanted to stay with her beloved grandmother.

“Oh, you were all right,” Dad said. “Your grandmother was the one who had us running round in circles. You’ll be happy to hear that I persuaded her not to sell the Casa Boffi. Now she’s talking about leaving it to you in her will.”

“Me?”

“She says you’re the only one with enough artistic temperament to appreciate it properly—Flora? Are you all right, darling?”

“I’m great.” Flora decided she had better keep the amazement out of her face as much as possible. Everything was
amazing. Apparently, she and Granny were now the best of friends—just as she and Pete had been. For the first time, she began to feel excited about seeing Pete again. “It’s just sort of weird to be back in London.”

She had forgotten how many cars there were in the twenty-first century. Dad’s Volvo was parked in a street near the station, where there seemed to be more cars than buildings. It unlocked with a beep when he pressed his key. Modern life was fast, and noisy, and crowded. The inside of the car smelled of chemicals and sun-baked plastic. Outside, the pavements swarmed with people who wore no hats and hardly any clothes. It was bewildering, and wonderful.

On the way home, while Flora gazed out of the window drinking in all the movement and energy and bright colors, Dad talked cheerfully about moving Granny into her new flat. “You won’t be surprised to hear that she’s bought herself a gigantic television. Did you watch much TV at school?”

Flora said, “Not really. There was too much to do.”

“I must say, darling, I’m thrilled that you involved yourself in so many activities while you were at Penrice. Jeff said that once you got over your initial shyness, you made a fantastic contribution.” Dad chuckled. “I do wish we’d been able to come to the end-of-term concert—I’d love to have seen your famous comedy striptease!”

Flora squeaked, and turned it into a cough. Striptease? The other Flora had certainly come out of her shell at Penrice Hall. She’d have to get back into it pretty quickly if she wanted to fit in at St. Win’s.

Mum came out to the front gate as soon as she heard the car. She was smiling, and how trim and pretty she looked, compared with the shapeless, hairy teachers at St. Winifred’s. Flora hugged her. It was wizard—brilliant—to be back, but she couldn’t think about anything except Pete. When had she guessed that her granddaughter was the Flora from her school? Had she always known?

The door that had once led to the garage was now the door to the new granny flat.

“You go in,” Mum said. “I’ll bring you something to drink in a minute, but I’m in the middle of putting things on plates. Granny’s invited a couple of friends to tea.”

“Friends?”

“One of them is Baroness Hooper, no less. Do go in, darling—she’s been on edge all day.”

“OK—I just have to get something from my purse.” Flora took out her half of the ten-shilling note, and scrunched it in the palm of her hand. It all seemed so far-fetched that she was already scared of looking silly. She knocked on the door.

“Is that Flora? Come in!” It was a deep, cracked old voice, not at all like Pete’s. She pushed open the door.

The new room had long windows that opened onto the garden. It was filled with furniture, pictures and books from the house in Italy.

Granny sat beside the new window, in an old person’s armchair with a high back, with her walking stick hooked over one of the arms. She was just the same. Her hair was white, her nose was a long beak and her face was covered with wrinkles.

“Flora.”

“Hello.” Flora wasn’t sure what to call her. Her message about Harbottle showed that Granny knew—but Flora couldn’t see any sign of Pete.

Granny was clutching a battered leather folder stuffed with pieces of paper. She opened it and reached into an inner pocket. Her fingers were long and thin, and her diamond ring was loose between her joints. She held out what looked like a limp, tattered, dirty scrap of paper.

“I never lost it,” Granny said. “Somehow, I’ve managed to hold on to it through all my travels.”

It was the other half of the ten-shilling note. Her grandmother’s face creased into a gleeful smile.

Flora cried, “Pete?”

And Pete said, “Isn’t this a hoot?”

“This is probably stranger for you than it is for me,” Granny said. “When you saw me this morning, I was twelve.”

Flora giggled. “Do you remember this morning?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” Granny raised her eyebrows haughtily, looking exactly like the old Pete. “You promised to find me in the future—even if I looked like Miss Harbottle.”

This made them both laugh. The more Flora talked to her grandmother, the more clearly Pete shone out of her. “The magic happened when I was on the train,” she said.

“I know. It created quite a sensation at the time. That jolly teacher told me all about it, the one with the thick ankles. What was her name?”

“Miss Bradley.”

“Yes, of course. Miss Bradley. I wonder what happened to her?” Granny broke off to sigh. “Anyway, apparently you turned white as a sheet and fainted.”

“Wow!” Flora was glad she had missed this drama.

“And when you woke up, you apparently looked at your clothes as if you’d never seen them before—and then you said something that sounded like ‘Pallox! I’ve come back!’ The other Flora didn’t live it down for ages.”

They were laughing again, though Flora couldn’t help feeling sorry for the other Flora, tasting the delights of the future only to have them snatched away.

She sipped her tea—which was, surprisingly, what she had wanted when Mum offered to make her a drink. She’d got fond of tea at St. Winifred’s, and modern tea was about a thousand times nicer. She decided she liked the new room. There was, as Dad had said, a vast television set. Granny/Pete knew how to make herself comfortable. And she was still untidy—for someone who could only hobble a few steps, she had made a lot of mess. Her sofa was heaped with newspapers, and there were loose sweets scattered on the carpet. Flora picked these up, and put them back in the large tin of Celebrations on the table beside Pete’s chair.

“When did it hit you that I was the Flora Fox from school?” she asked.

Pete sighed. “You’re going to think I’m an awful fool, but I didn’t work it out until about a month ago.”

“A month! What about when I was born?”

Pete sighed again. “I was in another country. When your father told me about his baby daughter, and said he was
naming you Flora, I might have remembered that there was a Flora Fox at my school. But I’d lost touch with her. It was such a long, long time ago—one forgets so much.”

“You can’t have forgotten the magic!”

“It’s funny,” Pete mused, “we did sort of forget it. We got used to the other Flora awfully quickly. She didn’t even look exactly like you, and we were the only people who noticed. We asked her about the future—and she talked about it a lot at first. But then we all sort of moved on. We were growing up, and there were other things to think about. In my case, I’m sorry to say, the opposite sex.” She did not look sorry. “Anyway, I got my first inkling when I heard your parents talking about Penrice Hall. I knew I’d heard the name before, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember where. And then, while I was coming round after my operation, I had the most extraordinary dream. I was back at school, in the hall, and in came Flora Fox from my dorm—only it was you.”

“And Mildred Beak spoke to you!” Flora cried excitedly. “I had the same dream—exactly the same! She wanted us to be friends!”

Pete smiled. “She did, didn’t she? I wanted it too. I didn’t get enough of you when you were little—to tell the truth, I’m not very good with babies and small children. But I saw what I’d done wrong when you came to Italy. I should have made more effort to know you.”

Flora said, “That’s what I thought about you. I’m sorry I was such a pig.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“Yes, I was. I was mean to Ella, and she hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Oh dear,” Pete said, “I suspect that was partly my fault. See if you can invite her round here for tea or something, and we’ll all start again.”

“She might not want to come, even if I say sorry.”

“Oh, I’ll telephone her mother and force her to come,” Pete said cheerfully. “When you’re very old and slightly famous, it’s quite easy to make people do things.”

It would be brilliant to repair the friendship with Ella, and for the first time, Flora saw that it might be possible—not because Granny was “slightly famous,” but because she now knew what kind of apology was due. “That would be great—as long as you don’t say she’s lumpy again.”

“Did I say that?”

“And you said I was a little weasel.”

“Did I? I’m dreadfully sorry. I promise that when Ella comes, I’ll be on my very best behavior.” Pete’s shaky hand reached out to touch Flora’s. It felt like metal covered with silk. “I might have forgotten the details, but I never forgot to be grateful to you. Thanks to you, I learned to think about other people’s feelings. And to control my temper—which is useful when one is constantly getting divorced. Nothing could stop me pushing that child into the quarry—more’s the pity—but at least you managed to stop me leaving her there for hours and hours. I often thought about it afterwards, and how different everything would have been for me if she’d been more seriously hurt and everyone found out what I’d done. Thank you, Flora.”

Flora was embarrassed. She moved her hand away from her grandmother’s to take another sweet from the tin. “You were quite good for me too. When I arrived at St. Win’s, I was pretty much as spoiled as you were. You called me Princess Flora. And you said you’d throw me out of the window if I didn’t stop going on about my shower room.”

Pete gave a hoot of laughter. “Oh Lord, your en suite shower room! How could I have forgotten that? We thought you were telling stories.”

They both giggled again, just as they had done this very morning, and Flora could suddenly see the old Pete glowing through the baggy, wrinkled skin of the new one. She was the old Pete, trapped in a body that had become a cage. It was painful to think of Pete being so near the end of her life, when Flora needed her to live forever. “Does your hip hurt much?”

“Only when I laugh or fart,” her grandmother said, with a wicked look that was totally Pete-like. “Don’t worry, darling. As I keep telling your poor father, I’ll be fine as long as I don’t skid on any more grapes.”

A black taxi drew up in the street outside. Pete glanced out of the window. “Ah, my friends are here. I wanted to mark your homecoming with a tea party. I started planning it as soon as I remembered you were Flora from school.”

Flora looked out of the window and saw the taxi driver helping a wobbly old lady out of his cab. Another old lady struggled out behind her.

“My dear old chums, Mrs. Enderby and Baroness Hooper.” Pete was laughing at her. “Oh, Flora, can’t you guess? You last saw them this morning!”

“What? You don’t mean—Pogo and Dulcie?”

Granny was very pleased with herself. “I told them! I told them you were Flora the future-girl! Dulcie was thrilled, but Pogo was skeptical—she might take a little convincing. She hasn’t changed!”

Flora’s head was swimming again. Granny as Pete had been enough of a shock. Now she was listening to the arrival of two more ancient twelve-year-olds.

Mum showed in the visitors. She was rather shy and extremely polite. “Flora, this is Mrs. Enderby. And this is Baroness Hooper—you might have seen her on the news—anyway, I’ll fetch some tea.”

“Yes, please,” said Mrs. Enderby.

Mum raised her eyebrows at Flora, who quickly pushed the nearest chair towards Mrs. Enderby. She looked like an inflatable fat person who has had half the air let out. She sat down with an “Ooof!”